


Indestructible

by Kateis_Cakeis



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: EMP Theory, Grief, Hurt, Like the fall was actually a fall, M/M, More like sorrow, Post-Reichenbach, Romance, kinda grief, lots of grief, tiny bit of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-21 04:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11350185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kateis_Cakeis/pseuds/Kateis_Cakeis
Summary: We all wonder what happens in Sherlock's head in EMP but, what is going on, on the outside? And how well is John coping, in all the sorrow of his own sadness? After the fall, it's any wonder he's functioning at all. Never mind managing to stay by Sherlock's bedside.





	Indestructible

“No. SHERLOCK!”

The life, it had drained from John’s eyes. His whole world came crashing down as soon as, well, as soon as Sherlock stepped off that roof.

“I’m a doctor, let me come through. Let me come through, please.”

He had to check. For a pulse. Anything. Any signs of life. Luckily, through all the people trying to hold him back, he placed his fingers upon Sherlock’s wrist. That familiar feeling, the pulsing of life. He felt it. Faintly. But he felt it.

“Jesus, no. God, no.”

But it was worse than he feared. A pool of red. His hair wet due to his own blood that had poured from his ears and gods knows where else. Blood dripping down his face. His eyes wide open.

It wasn’t the worst case but it was pretty close. Sherlock’s chances were low. He was close to being dead anyway. Nevertheless, with all the emotions consuming him, John stood up and waited.

And he only had to wait, on a bench for twenty minutes. He watched buses come and go and soon enough, police arrived, ushering John away. And as soon as he got up, a black car rolled up. The door swung open and John approached.

“Get in,” Mycroft said, bluntly.

And John did.

The ride to the hospital may as well have lasted a century. Just silence between John and Mycroft. Silence until Mycroft said his peace.

“You never should have left him.”

A tear rolled down John’s cheek, he was biting back the tears and anger. “You don’t think I know that?!”

“I…” Mycroft sighed. “I shouldn’t pin this on you. I’m getting my people to investigate right now.”

“Investigate what?! Sherlock jumped off a roof, it was attempted suicide!” John’s jaw clenched.

“You would have saw the signs if he was suicidal.”

“No, I wouldn’t. Things like this, they’re unpredictable.”

“Oh, and you would know?”

“Yes, I would know! Now, Mycroft, don’t make this journey worse than it already is.”

Mycroft nodded and the two sat in silence once again. Up until the car pulled up outside a hospital. The two rushed in, to the desk. Finding out where Sherlock was and continuing onwards.

Waiting, to find out Sherlock’s state. That was excruciating. It was any wonder John and Mycroft could live through those moments. Never mind much else.

This long wait or what felt like a long wait meant two things to John. Either they were cleaning Sherlock up, ready for them to see and say their goodbyes. Or they were trying to stabilise him and run tests to see if he’s brain dead. He could be in a coma, he could wake up from this in a matter of moments.

A doctor came up to the two. Slowly and carefully. She had an expression of news on her face and not good news.

“Mr Holmes and Doctor Watson?”

“Yes,” they both said at once.

“Sherlock is alive, we have managed to get him in a stable condition. However, he is in a coma. And I must warn you now, he may not wake up from it.”

John stood up instantly. “Can we see him?”

“Yes… I’ll show you to his room.”

The doctor led the way and soon enough, was showing John and Mycroft into Sherlock’s room. He was hooked up to a heart monitor, a tube stuck down his throat. In all manner of speaking, it was not a pretty sight.

The door was closed. John and Mycroft could only stare until a sound from Mycroft’s pocket was heard. He checked his phone quickly and for a moment, he was still. His hand clasped around his phone and with his other, he dragged it down his face.

John glanced to him. “What is it?”

“Moriarty was on the roof with him… Some CCTV caught Moriarty going up to the roof.” Mycroft sighed. “Some people went to check, he was nowhere to be found.”

“He… made Sherlock jump.”

“It appears so.”

John frowned, tears collected by the bottom of his eyes. He folded his arms and proceeded to a chair next to Sherlock’s bed. Not saying another word to Mycroft.

“You did this… You caused this. Telling Moriarty every little detail about Sherlock to get something that doesn’t exist.”

“We realised that too late…”

John scoffed. “Too late? Sherlock is lying in this bed, thanks to you. And you tried to blame me.” John tightened his folded arms, almost shrinking into himself. “Go.”

Mycroft tilted his head. “What?”

“Seriously, go. Sherlock wouldn’t want you here.”

Mycroft raised his eyebrows and took a breath in. “I’m sorry, John.”

“Go!”

Mycroft, alarmed, moved towards the door. Never had he felt scared or intimidated by John but his sorrow, in this moment, was too much for even the iceman to bear.

A few hours had gone by and Lestrade, along with a police officer appeared in the room.

“How are you, John?” Lestrade asked.

John looked off into the distance. “Not good…”

“And Sherlock?”

John now focused his eyesight on Lestrade. “Really not good.”

“Mycroft has informed us about Moriarty. I assure you, I’ve got everyone down the station working on it.”

“Good…” John looked away from Lestrade and instead looked to Sherlock.

“So, that’s Sherlock Holmes?” the other police officer asked, whispering.

“You a fan?”

“He’s a great man.”

Lestrade stared at Sherlock. “No, he’s a good one.”

John faced Lestrade and smiled. “You’ve got that right, Greg.”

Lestrade gave a smile of reassurance. “Well, I’ll see you later, John.”

“See you.” John watched as Lestrade and the other police officer left the room.

On a much brighter summers day, two weeks later, John still sat by Sherlock’s bedside. Moriarty hadn’t made any return. Mycroft hadn’t visited. Molly was nowhere to be seen. Mrs Hudson only visited every other day. And Lestrade had every police officer in the city keeping an eye out for Moriarty.

All whilst John sat in that chair. Day in, day out. It had become routine for the nurses to bring John food and water, due to him never moving. Hardly stirring. He only ever went home for a change of clothes, to charge his phone. Then he was right back to Sherlock’s bedside. And Sherlock just lay there and lay there. There was never a single sign that he would wake up.

John stared at Sherlock, all the time but, thoughts ran in his mind. Unspoken words. While those thoughts ran wild, Ella walked in. Her face was entirely sympathetic and John was utterly surprised.

“I thought I’d pop in, to check up on you.”

John scrunched his face up, confused. “…Why?”

“Because… John, you haven’t had an appointment in eighteen months and with, with Sherlock like this, I have to offer my services.”

John pointed to the plastic chair in the corner of the room, much different to the comfortable cushiony chair John was sitting on.

Ella took her seat and brought it closer to John, sitting on it. “First, I need you to say what happened.”

“You know what. You read the papers, watch the telly. You know.”

“No, you know what I mean. What happened, John?”

John swallowed a lump in his throat. “Sher… My best friend, Sherlock Holmes… is close to being brain dead.” John immediately broke down, into wails and cries. Tears ran down his face, like they were trained at this point.

“There’s stuff you wanted to say, but didn’t say it… Say it now.”

“No. Sorry. I can’t.” Tears kept running, faster than John could possibly wipe them away.

“John… Look, I’ll go. Say it when I’m gone. Say it to him. You owe it to yourself.” Ella got up from her seat, she moved it to the side. Her eyes lingered on John for a moment, she observed his state. And as she slowly shook her head with sympathy, she left the room.

John turned to Sherlock, finally managing to wipe the tears away. But still, moisture resided in his eyes.

“Um… You, you told me once that you weren’t a hero. Um. There were times I didn’t even think you were human…” John bit back his tears, his hand covered his face for a moment before dropping. “But let me tell you this… You were the best man and the most human… human being that I have ever known and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie. And so… there.”

He waited a moment, waited for the emotions to pass. He rubbed his eyes, ensuring any water was long gone. He took several hyperventilating breaths before trying to speak again.

“I was so alone and I owe you so much. Ok…” John stared for a second before he shook his head, tears ran from his eyes. “No, please, there’s just one more thing, mate. One more thing. One more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don’t… be… dead. Would you do- just for me, just stop it. Stop this.”

No movement, nothing. Not even a heartfelt speech could stir Sherlock. No, with him, it had to be more. Always had to be more.

One month. A whole month. Sherlock hadn’t moved a muscle, yet, his heart rate was up and down like a yo-yo. John couldn’t help but wonder what he overheard, if he could hear. If his mind was running wild with dreams or if it was nothing but darkness. He tended to think of the brighter things, the good things. Stuff that made his heart feel warmer and safer.

A blonde nurse was tending to Sherlock, helping John to brush Sherlock’s hair. Helping him care for Sherlock. Once John was done, he placed the brush down on the table beside him and let the nurse get back to work.

“Mary, thanks. I- No one comes here anymore. It’s nice to have a friendly face,” John admitted, with a little smile. He sat back in the chair or, what had become his chair due to all his time there.

Mary finished up doing Sherlock’s ob’s and moved towards the door. “I’m just doing my job. I applaud you really. Looking after your friend like this… takes commitment. But, he isn’t just your friend, is he?”

John leant into his hand. “Never just my friend.” His head dropped. “Never had time for it to be something. Never knew if he liked me back.”

Mary gave a reassuring smile. “I’ll tell you what might work. Read your cases to him. You’re the famous Doctor Watson and he’s the famous Sherlock Holmes. If anything can bring him round, it could be those stories. The legends. Urban myth, those. Besides, it would fuel the media’s fantasies.”

John chuckled. “Yeah it would…” He sighed, deeply, like the oxygen hadn’t even got to his lungs. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Mary ducked out of the room, to tend to other patients.

John pulled out his phone. A couple of taps and he was on his website, his blog. Instead of starting at the beginning or close to the end, he instead looked to his drafts.

He chuckled to himself. “By, god, you’ll never be forgotten, you. Urban myth according to that nurse. I made us famous, put us in danger… But you already were in danger…” John brought his head up from his phone, looking to Sherlock. “Weren’t you?”

His head dropped back down to the posts that never were. “A Few Pictures… Jesus, I was gonna post that until- Ahh, thought people would have liked them, you know? The pictures of our adventures. Hmm, got to find a case.” John kept scrolling and scrolling. Up and back down, down and back up.

“Oh… The Deadly Tealights! God, you love locked room mysteries! Locked in a bathroom, strangled in a bath. You had fun with that one… Probably too much. But you always enjoyed it, kept you busy. Kept you going… But you always wanted justice, one way or another.” John stared at Sherlock once more, taking in his face again. Gazing into those closed eyelids.

“Aw… How about Murder at ‘The Orient Express’… That was a good one! Should really post these, you might-” John looked away with guilt. Even the mere thought of Sherlock not making it, made his stomach turn.

“No… Ok… Ah yes, your strange sense of justice. No one had seen anything but they must have! So they all did it! All connected online. No proof.” John laughed to himself. “But still, you were impressed. Let them off. A peculiar sense of right and wrong.”

John continued still. At this point, he was just passing the time, reinvigorating old memories. “The Inexplicable Matchbox! Best of them all! Only because you had to dress up as a clown. And the thousand empty matchboxes, well, almost all empty. Come to think off it… I think I made up the Mrs Hudson bit? She was definitely not pushed out of a helicopter.” John laughed again, heartier this time, full of life.

John looked to Sherlock again, just as still. No other movement. Nothing but the ups and downs of his heart rate. Entirely inconsistent. What was going on in there?

Another month had quickly rushed by. John had read through every draft entirely, in more detail than the blog could ever give. He read through the beginning and the last cases. Everything. Even just talking and reminiscing about random events that had occurred, nothing in particular.

John had little life and Mycroft was ensuring he was supported finically. To which John would always try to reject the money before Mycroft would counter, telling him that he’d have to get a job instead. And John hardly wanted that, for Sherlock could wake up at any moment.

Mary popped in, doing Sherlock’s ob’s again. Her shifts were a bit all over the place, due to her working part-time. John was already brushing Sherlock’s hair for the day when Mary was getting her job underway.

“How’s Rosie?” John asked.

“Aw, she’s fine. But she does love to throw her toys about, thinks it’s a game.”

John chuckled. “Mischievous?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“And how’s David?”

“He’s good. He’s going part-time too. Allows us to really be a family for once.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, it is… Hey, do you want kids?” Mary looked up from Sherlock, towards John.

“Kids? I don’t know… Can’t really think of the future, not when- Not when Sherlock’s in this state.”

“Yeah, I get that. But you have to think that, one day, you might have to say goodbye.”

John felt his energy drain straight out of him. He finished up the part of Sherlock’s hair he was brushing, set the brush down and collapsed back into his chair.

“Please don’t say things like that. I can’t bear to lose him. You know I’m barely coping as it is.” John’s hands began to shake, he clasped them into fists.

Mary finished up doing Sherlock’s ob’s. She looked to John with sadness in her eyes. “I’m sorry. But you do have to think of your future.”

“It’s none of your business!”

“Sorry, I overstepped. Have a good day.” Mary left the room quite quickly and another nurse poked her head around the door.

John, startled, stood up and checked who was there. “Nurse Cornish?”

“Couldn’t help but hear somewhat raised voices. You ok?”

“Not… really.” John’s eyes dropped to the ground.

Cornish came into the room and glanced to Sherlock’s heart monitor. “How’s his heart rate?”

John glanced at the monitor then back to Cornish. “The usual.”

“Hm. May I suggest something?”

John shrugged. His isolation was starting to isolate even the most basic skills of interaction.

“Play his favourite music, or get his favourite perfume or cologne. Potentially, it could help him recover from his coma.”

“That’s… not too bad of a suggestion. I was never one to know much about comas. Never needed too. Any advice is appreciated, thank you.”

“No problem. Let’s hope you can wake him up.” Cornish smiled slightly and left the room. Letting John get back to, whatever he really did here.

A couple of days had flown by. John sat in his chair, with an earphone in his ear, connected to his phone. The other had been shoved in Sherlock’s ear.

_Oh, what a night_  
_Why'd it take so long to see the light?_  
_Seemed so wrong, but now it seems so right_  
_What a lady, what a night._

John looked to his phone and paused the music. A tear fell from his eye and landed right over the pause button. “…I walked in when you were dancing to this, just something interesting about you. Your love for dance.”

John went back and scrolled through the music in his phone, quickly landing on another song.

_I've got to break free_  
_God knows, God knows I want to break free._  
_I've fallen in l-_

Paused again. More tears falling. “I wish, you were here, awake. So I can finally say what I’ve always wanted to say. What I’ve always meant to say and never have… Goddammit, Sherlock.”

Over the next month, the only music that was played was the music Sherlock had composed and recorded over the years. John was busy listening to some sad, heartbroken sounding music as he popped onto The Science of Deduction.

He scrolled through until he found, ‘Analysis of Perfumes’. He read through it, finding some interesting notes.

John was out and back in within an hour. In his hand was a posh looking plastic bag. From some shop, a nice-ish shop. John set it on the table and pulled out a box. ‘Claire-de-la-lune’.

“If your favourite perfume won’t do it… god knows what will, Sherlock.”

John flicked the cap off and began spraying around the room, only ‘cause he was given permission long ago. The smell soon occupied the entire room and John placed the perfume bottle on the table, staring at it for a good while.

“Of course you would favour a perfume to do with the moon. Admiring its beauty, not caring about the science.” John scoffed. “The only science you don’t care for… But I suppose you’re more chemistry and biology than physics.” John shrugged. “But how should I know… I didn’t know that phone call was a trick and then- you ended up like this…”

John looked to Sherlock, not a movement but his heart rate. It was rather erratic.

“Sherlock…” John uttered.

Swiftly, Sherlock’s heart rate calmed back down. And down. Before…

Buzz, buzz. The sound of John pounding on the button to alarm the nurses and doctors. People came rushing in, John was quickly shown out.

“Cardiac arrest…” he said, to nurse Cornish beside him as doctors and nurses were busy trying to bring Sherlock back.

“Uncommon. He must be dreaming… his heart rate, always so-”

“Up and down. He’s dreaming alright. Probably thinks it’s all real. God, what’s happening in that head of his…?”

“If you don’t know, then no one will.”

John stared as the doctors moved away from Sherlock. He took a breath, holding it. They stepped away with smiles on their faces, the doctors poured out while the nurses stayed.

“He’s alive,” John said, releasing his breath.

“He’s a fighter.”

“Always has been.”

When things calmed down, John threw the perfume away. It only went south when he introduced it, so it was gone in a flash.

As the next month passed over, John was growing impatient. He began to pace around the room. Unstable, unsteady. At any moment, he could break. Break in two. The heart rate, the up and down. That was the worst. John moved towards the bed, tears stood at the bottom of his eyes. His fists clenching and unclenching.

And, with one movement, he had slapped Sherlock. “Wake up!” And again. “Is this, a game?! A bloody game?!” And again.

Doctors and nurses rushed in and pulled John away from the bedside. They pulled him off and up against the wall. And, in came Mycroft.

“Release him…” Mycroft ordered.

The doctors and nurses backed off and walked straight out of the room, with no words said.

John furrowed his brow. “You… control them?”

“This isn’t an NHS hospital, John. Have you never noticed? This is a private hospital. Unmarked. Where the media can’t touch anybody, they simply don’t know this place exists. I don’t control much but I can control this. I bought it years ago, for all sorts of people. It was inevitable that Sherlock was going to end up here, one day.”

John pressed his head up against the wall then leant on it. “They’re trained…”

“Yes, they are… I’ve known for a while that you were going to break. I’m sorry, I should have been more delicate with all of this.”

“He’s still in here because of you…”

“I know and I promise I’m doing everything I can-”

“Moriarty was never a person,” John announced.

“How do you figure that?”

“Jeff Hope spoke in third person about it, Sherlock told me back then. …I bet you’re involved. Molly too, haven’t heard from her since this all happened. She’s never been to the morgue since.”

Mycroft looked to Sherlock. “I underestimated you.”

“But you wouldn’t hurt your own brother, so you told James Whoever-he-is, everything about Sherlock. To get him to back off but, you don’t have enough power. So, this happened. Sherlock got cocky, you messed up. Story of my bloody life.”

“How-”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about all this. It was just a story in my head but here you are, confirming it all.”

“Clever. Clever boy.”

“Don’t call me that.” John pushed himself off the wall. “I won’t hurt him again, you can go now.”

“First admit it, admit what you did.”

“What? Are you a therapist now?”

“Close enough.”

“I really hit him, hit him hard. There, there you go. Now go run along to mess up someone else’s life. I don’t have time for you.” John kept a steady glower as he backed up and sat back in his chair.

Mycroft stared for a moment and nodded. He walked off, closing the door behind him.

John was back to his usual routine after a few days. What were days, soon became weeks and then, another month. John had never so much as touched Sherlock, never mind actually hitting him.

For the past month, all he had been doing was flicking through the various TV channels. All seemed to play similar things. Culverton, soaps, Magnussen being arrested for blackmail, Culverton, imminent terrorist attacks, Culverton and lastly, news reports on Sherlock’s name being cleared.

John’s eyes were glued to the TV, hearing that Sherlock’s name was in the clear, that warmed his heart. Public apologies were made by Scotland Yard but the news made sure to reiterate that no one knew of Sherlock’s condition. No one knew if he was alive.

John switched off the TV, turning to Sherlock. “You hear that? They cleared your name. Bet Mycroft had something to do with that…” John scoffed. “All you have to do is wake up now. Ok? That’s all you have to do.”

It had been a few days; the TV had stayed off and John had nodded off in his chair. A doctor came in, smiled slightly at John and approached Sherlock. They pulled Sherlock’s eyelid open, shining a light in.

John stirred from his sleep, his eyes still heavy. He turned to the doctor and with his groggy sight, he focused on their expression. Frantic, perhaps?

“What is it?” John asked, jumping up from his chair.

“His pupils aren’t dilating…” the doctor said with worry in their voice.

“Pass me that.” John stretched out his arm and with reluctance, the doctor gave the pen torch to John.

John leant over the bed, pulling Sherlock’s eyelid up. Carefully and slowly, he shone the light into his eyes.

“Sherlock?” John said sternly.

The doctor watched with patience, not wanting to interrupt or tell John the inevitable. Though, they didn’t have to as John suddenly sighed in relief.

“They’re dilating,” he said with a sigh escaping his breath.

“Good. Good… May I ask something?” the doctor asked as John handed the pen torch back.

“Sure.”

“Do you think he responds to your voice?”

John stared into Sherlock’s closed eyelids once again. He shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“You’ve mentioned his, what? Mind palace before? Perhaps his reduced responses are due to being so deep in his dreams?”

“Well, if anyone could, he’d be buried in his own mind…” John huffed. “With him, he could be in too deep. He could be falling in a pit and he may never climb out.” John’s eyes diverted to the ground, his lips dipped.

The doctor gave a look of knowing. “Don’t go down that path of thinking. Keep thinking positively. It’ll keep you going.”

John looked to the doctor. “Yeah, you’re right. Thank you.”

The doctor left and John just sat back in his chair. He pulled out his phone and went looking for music, putting on some of the same songs again.

It wasn’t long before another month had passed by. Six months here, six months waiting for something, anything. Mary and nurse Cornish had been in and out, not only checking Sherlock but ensuring John was managing too. Something was said around the hospital. _Sherlock isn’t the only one in a coma, the only one stuck. John is too, he’s in a loop, never getting out._

John was staring, as he usually does, at Sherlock. Just staring. How he passes the time these days. Suddenly, his eyes widened. A revelation. “Your way. Always your way.”

John stood up, taking Sherlock’s hand into his. “God… I hope I haven’t got this wrong,” John murmured to himself.

He moved a little closer, holding Sherlock’s hand a little tighter. He leant forward and kept inching forward, until his lips were pressed up against Sherlock’s forehead.

Just a small, little kiss. Something to ease the way. To make the hope last. Just a little longer.

John backed up, still holding onto Sherlock’s hand. He just watched and watched. Nothing, still nothing. He almost sat back down, almost released Sherlock’s hand, when Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered.

The first movement of any kind since that awful day. Buzz, BUZZ. John ran to the door, swinging it open.

“I think he’s waking up!” he shouted.

A doctor and a few nurses came flooding in. John kept to the side as they did, he inched back towards the chair, to watch Sherlock.

Eyelids flickering. Fingers twitching. Eyes open.

“Sherlock…” John whispered.

John gave the doctors a few minutes to sort everything out and soon enough, John was sitting in his chair next to a very awake Sherlock.

Sherlock turned his head to John, he was very weak, barely awake.

“You’re beautiful…” Sherlock said with such honesty.

John was taken aback. He malfunctioned for a second before even thinking of replying. “Really?”

“The amount of times we haven’t said anything… I’ve been in a coma, for six months. The truth deserves to be said, for once.”

“We’re not gonna talk about Bart’s?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Right now, is not the time.”

John nodded, with a slight smile. “I’m so glad you’re awake… Thought you’d never wake up.”

“But here I am.”

John chortled. “Here you are… and, by the way, you’re beautiful as well.”

Sherlock winked. “Good to know.”

John smiled brighter this time. “God, I love you.”

Sherlock beamed. “Did you mean to say that out loud?”

“For once, yes.”

Sherlock smirked. “I love you too.”

John offered his hand and Sherlock reached back. Finally, they got to hold hands. Finally, they were admitting their feelings. It only took Sherlock jumping off a roof and him being in a coma for six months.

John stood up and leant over Sherlock’s bed. They watched each little micromovement the other had. They breathed in the same air. They both inched closer and they were all of sudden, kissing. Just closed lipped, just brief. Small and loving. All they needed for now. Just each other. Just being together in this moment, with nothing else to worry them.

They parted, staring, gazing for a second before John sat back down. They smiled at each other, with happiness in their eyes.

It was all over. That wait. The wait for Sherlock to wake up. The wait for their feelings to be told. All of it was over. Now, Sherlock had to recover. And then, who knows what? Cases, beating Moriarty. Anything. But right now, they could live in this moment.

Knowing they were safe.

Knowing their love could last through anything. Any trial. Any test.

You can’t destroy anything as perfect as this. It is simply indestructible.


End file.
